


Free Coffee

by Hollandoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee, F/M, First Meet, Fluff, Kinda Steamy, Oneshot, Reluctant Participants, fall - Freeform, free coffee, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13279863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Sandor knows Bronn likes free stuff. Sansa knows Margaery likes meeting guys. Together they're pulled into an event that winds up throwing their lives down entirely new paths.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for reading! This was just another idea that popped into my mind a while back, and it's been sitting in my Finished file for a while, because I have been otherwise occupied ;-)
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta, LadyCleganeofTheNorth, for everything! Amazing. Simply amazing.

 

 

**Hold Hands For Coffee Day!!!**

 

**Hold Hands**

**With A Stranger**

**For One Hour,**

**Get A Free Coffee!**

**(Or Coffee Coupon…)**

 

"Come on, Sansa! This will be fun!" Margaery was pulling Sansa along the sidewalk, her long, manicured nails digging into the back of Sansa’s hand. "It's like a huge meet-and-greet!"

"But we're not strangers," Sansa tried to protest, but it didn't seem like her friend was listening. 

As Margaery pulled her, brunette curls flying out behind her as they jogged towards the park, the other woman's tinkling laughter drifted back to Sansa on the fall breeze. All around them leaves swirled, a mix of reds and oranges and yellows, mingling with the softly sweet scent of the plush city during fall. Despite missing the North, where her family lived and where they were already inundated with several feet of snow, she had to admit that King's Landing was gorgeous this time of year.

The wind whipped Margaery's scarf up and Sansa batted it away so it didn't flap in her face. It fell against the  taupe wool of the designer coat Margaery was wearing, a nicely contrasting deep rose to the gray-tan of the jacket. Margaery always knew what to wear to look good.

Sansa on the other hand was dressed in her go-to favorites, her double-breasted black wool coat from Old Navy with the old gray plaid scarf wrapped around her neck and tucked into the front. She wore a pair of insulated leggings under her dark gray jumper. 

Margaery had said the way the pleats showed beneath the hem of the black coat made Sansa look like a schoolgirl.

Well, at least she'd gotten Margaery's approval. She couldn't count the times Margaery had dragged her back inside her studio apartment to change, stating  _ We're not going to be seen together if you wear that!! _

Referring back to Sansa's statement of them not being strangers, Margaery replied, "That's not the point! The point is to find a stranger to hold hands with. Then you hold their hand for an hour and you get free coffee."

Sansa rolled her eyes. She hardly felt that an hour holding hands with a random stranger was worth a free coffee. If a coffee was five dollars, then she was going to be holding hands with the random stranger for five dollars, for an hour. And if she found her random stranger to be a sweaty, overweight version of her Uncle Edmure, she was going to be pretty upset.

In fact, she was going to bail. But she decided not to tell Margaery that for now.

Sansa's long red hair flew up around her face as Margaery's did the same, a fluke breeze whipping it about their heads as Sansa choked back an absurd urge to giggle at the way Margaery looked at her. They both clawed the hair out of their mouths as they came upon the giant sign proclaiming "Free Coffee For Everyone" at the entrance to the park.

"Quick! We don't want to be late!" 

Margaery's pulling became more insistent, and Sansa almost tripped over someone's discarded water bottle by a trash can as they rounded a corner to find a large crowd already gathering around the coffee truck.

A kind-looking woman holding a clipboard was standing on a short step stool beside the open window of the food truck, holding a megaphone that she was now speaking into. 

"Partner up, everyone! It's almost time to get started!" 

Margaery glanced back at Sansa, obviously the more excited of the two, and they both started scanning the crowd. They began to see people partnering up, saying brief  _ Hello _ 's as they took hands. It wasn't long before they saw that their prospects were dwindling.

"Quick, quick!" Margaery jumped up and down, trying to see someone without a partner. Her hair bounced, the personification of her personality. Sansa smiled inwardly at her own description--soft, straight, hanging limply against her shoulders... 

Yes, that's how she felt most of the time.

"All those who do not have a partner, please come to the front so we can get you paired up!" The woman with the megaphone made the announcement.

"Come on, Sansa!" Margaery urged. They walked up to the coffee truck and Sansa let go of Margaery's hand, suddenly realizing they may not have been approached because it looked as though they were already partnered. Obviously her friend had not thought of that, such was the iron grip she’d had on Sansa's hand.

_ Perhaps now we'll find partners _ , she wondered. Then she groaned.

A small group of teenage boys was sauntering up from the other side, their swaggers as pretentious as their designer backpacks and expensive haircuts. 

Like cocks strutting their stuff in front of hens. 

Sansa just rolled her eyes.

  
  


***

  
  


Sandor saw bright red hair and everything else disappeared. He'd seen women with hair that color, but never before had it shone so brilliantly in the sunlight, as though she was fall incarnate. He could see even from this distance the golds and yellow highlights as the rays shimmered off the individual strands.

Embarrassingly, it made him want to touch it. 

So outwardly he took on a look of utter boredom, despite the desire to drag Bronn to the front of the crowd and see if the woman with red hair was already paired with someone.

Though it was entirely likely that she was. Who would let that woman go, if they had a chance to slide their hand in hers? And--wait-- _ yes _ , she did in fact have a partner. The brunette woman next to her was holding her hand.  _ Fuck _ . Well, opportunity never actually knocked, seeing as how he and Bronn were at the back of the pack, looking at the back of everyone's heads.

He didn't know why Bronn dragged him to this anyway. It wasn't like either of them were big coffee drinkers. They had been strolling along the damned sidewalk when Bronn spotted the flyer, and if there was one thing that attracted Bronn, it was free stuff. 

But, Sandor had to admit, if there was another thing that attracted Bronn, it was the possibility of hooking up with a woman. Nothing could turn that guy's head faster than a pretty face.

So they'd walked around until they found the park, and Sandor had gone along because it was the weekend and he had nothing better to do. But he really hoped he wasn't going to be saddled with someone dull, or--even worse--talkative. 

Though, he supposed, anyone was likely one or the other, so... perfect middle ground wasn't too much to expect, right?

He knew he wasn't exactly the catch of the century. Ever since he'd been in the car accident as a kid and he'd had half his face burned off, people tended to shy away from him. And, he had to admit, it did make him kind of grumpy.

Okay,  _ piss poor company _ is what Bronn tended to call him. But Bronn stuck around. So that  _ had _ to mean he was a decent guy. 

And so was Bronn, truth be told. For all his crass and vulgar speech, Bronn was a truly decent guy--the kind of guy who would throw his jacket down on a puddle for the right lady, the kind of guy who would put up a friend for an indeterminate amount of time while he tried to find digs in the city, like Sandor had done a couple years ago. Bronn was the type of guy who would put in a good word for you with his boss, even if he didn't really know your work ethic, like he had done for Sandor. And now they were the two highest paid mechanics at Lannister Auto, the snobbiest, run-by-rich-shitfaces auto mechanics shop in the city. 

But not for long. That joint bank account he and Bronn had opened to fund their own shop was growing by the day, and if Bronn wanted a free cup of coffee so an extra five bucks could go in their coffers, than he guessed he wouldn't complain. 

Plus it got Sandor a free coffee.

"Fuck this, we're not gonna get a coffee if we don't start talking to people," Bronn was saying from where he'd just pushed off from the tree he was leaning against, "And I'm not gonna hold your fucking hand for an hour." 

He flashed Sandor a grin, all crow's feet and laughing eyes. Then he turned and started walking up towards the front.

A lady on a megaphone had just entreated them to do just that, for all those who didn't have a partner, and Sandor couldn't help but notice that the redhead hadn't moved from the front where she was standing. The brunette didn't either, come to think of it, which was a bad sign. Idly, he kept an eye on them while simultaneously attempting to find someone without a partner.

He felt fucking ridiculous. This felt like those damned activities in grade school where they made you partner with someone you didn't know, those fucking get-to-know-someone activities that he'd always dreaded. They were always accompanied by the usual questions--"Where'd you get those scars? Did they hurt? Can I get a new partner?"  _ None of your business _ ,  _ fuck-yes _ , and  _ fucking-please _ had been his standard answers since fifth grade, and they weren't going to change.

Although, come to think of it, Bronn had asked the same questions--all of them except the last one, with the last one Bronn asked being  _ Wanna move in together? _ So Bronn was the exception.

Sandor suddenly saw the Brunette let go of the redhead's hand. He watched to see what would happen with that development.

But he was also thinking that if his coffee partner asked him those questions now, he was probably going to walk away. He wasn't going to put up with a twat who asked stupid questions.

Even the redhead. It would be just his luck that she turn out to be some vapid waste of oxygen.

The two ladies came fully into view as the crowd parted for them, and it was like he and Bronn were on a safari and their prey had left an opening. Sandor nudged Bronn on the shoulder, pointing with his eyes at the two ladies up front. He knew Bronn had a thing for brunettes, and  _ fuck _ \--he guessed he had a sudden thing for redheads, because he instantly felt so territorial towards her that he wanted to growl at the college boys were were fucking  _ strutting their stuff  _ up to the ladies' fronts as he and Bronn approached them from the rear.

And thank the gods for Bronn's confidant shit-faced grin, because he made his last two steps speed up before he stealthily slid his hand into the brunette's, crowing, "Sorry boys, better luck next time!" 

The brunette turned to him then and Sandor saw, in turns, surprise, then acceptance, and then instant interest flash across her face. 

_ How the hell does he do it _ , he mused, though he didn't have time to smile at his friend because the redhead had suddenly slipped her hand into his big mitt, and was now facing the college boys, her body turned away from his.

Sandor looked down at their hands, double checking that the hand in his was indeed attached to the redhead's body, before looking up at the flock of cocks now gaping at the two men who towered over them.

"Tough luck," he rasped, his voice deepening in what he realized was genuine possessiveness over the woman who had caught his interest. He felt a light squeeze around his hand from the redhead as she stood a step in front of him, her body language daring the kids to say something.

They didn't--thank the gods as well for that, because Sandor didn't have the patience today for confrontations.

Instead they all turned their disappointed faces away from the two women and ambled away, eyes searching for new conquests.

"The timer starts in thirty seconds, ladies and gentlemen! We will be coming around to gather names so that in two hours you can come get your coffees, or your free coffee coupons!"

The megaphone sounded like it was in Sandor's ear and when he looked, the lady was standing beside him, clipboard in hand. She smiled at Sandor and the redhead, who now finally turned to him.

He had to remind himself that he was not, in fact, a dog, despite Bronn teasing him about being a hound. He just barely managed to keep his mouth clamped shut, when he felt his tongue wanted to loll out of his mouth and his lungs felt like they’d suddenly taken up panting.

That soft, pouty lower lip, the fiery red hair and the cerulean blue eyes--this woman could quite possibly be his undoing.

  
  


***

  
  


Sansa had caught sight of her potential savior just a moment before the young men would have been on them. And when she'd seen Margaery latch onto the friendly looking auburn-haired man, Sansa had seen his partnerless companion and hadn't thought twice about sliding her hand into his massive one.

Her hand had disappeared within his but she hadn’t a moment to contemplate that, as she’d turned her body towards the college kids and had given them her most confident  _ Don’t even think about it _ pose. It was one that always worked well for her as a high school counselor when she was walking the halls between classes on hallway duty, and the boys recognized it for what it was.

Though, she knew having a devil incarnate standing behind her probably lent itself to her cause.

The glimpse she’d gotten of his profile before she had looked away was an intimidating one. But, as someone who liked to study other humans and to learn about them, her instinct had told her to grab his hand--that he would be a worthy partner for the hour during this coffee whatever-it-was.

Beneath the thin hair on his right side she’d been able to see scars--or  _ scar _ , whichever he preferred to call it. It reached from high on the right side of his scalp, down his temple and over where an ear used to be, and it disappeared under the collar of his hoodie. His hair was thicker elsewhere, falling just below his shoulders in clean, black waves. 

Not only that, but his slightly hooked nose--that looked like it had been broken more than a few times, possibly--and his salt-and-pepper beard and mustache meant he was of indeterminate age. 

And  _ tall _ . Good heavens, was he ever tall. In her flat boots, even at her five feet, nine inches, he had to have been at least six-and-a-half feet tall. Whereas she usually felt like she towered over everyone, other women at least, beside him she felt downright petite. 

Even now, his hand didn't so much hold hers in a normal grip, as it did engulf it, her thumb peaking out from between his own thumb and forefinger, with perhaps the barest tips of her fingers exposed on the other side of his palm. 

Whoever he was, he was not the Jolly Green Giant, as he’d looked about as happy to be here as she did.

His companion, on the other hand, was smiling down at Margaery, also from a significant height--though not nearly as high as  _ her _ giant. The other one had a goofy grin on his face, and he looked like he had just won the lottery.

So Sansa turned and looked up at her partner, not knowing now exactly who had saved whom, but deciding not to question it. 

Instead, deadpanned, she said, “You must really love coffee.”   
  


 

***

 

Sandor was brought out of his trance at her words, and the absurdity of them. 

“What? No.” He had to clear his throat at the sudden intrusion of speaking. He tilted his chin in Bronn’s direction. “No, I’m here because my friend drug me over here.” 

To his relief, although he didn’t know why it would be a relief exactly, she nodded as though agreeing with him, and together they looked at the other duo, to whom the world had suddenly disappeared.

“That makes two of us,” she assured him quietly.

Bronn now actually held the brunette’s second hand between his, and they were clasped together, their hands brought up between them as though they had suddenly and inexplicably fallen utterly, madly, deeply in love. It made Sandor nauseous.

“I really don’t feel like standing for an hour. Do you want to find a place to sit?” He glanced around and spotted an empty bench slightly behind the coffee truck and to the right, pointing with his unoccupied hand. The redhead nodded quickly and they walked over, Sandor adding, “It doesn’t look as though they will miss us.” 

To this the redhead glanced around, exposing once again her entire face as she turned towards him first before looking back between them to gaze on her friend. She nodded in agreement.

“I suspect you’re right. Margaery tends to do that to men, though.”

It wasn’t said in a mean way, but more of a  _ I’m used to it _ way, which made him unexpectedly sad for her. 

“Bronn seems more drawn to her than his usual type, so I think she’ll be okay,” as said, but he wasn’t sure why he felt he needed to assure her.

They turned as one and sat on the bench, close but not touching, resting their hands on the swell of the bench seat between their thighs.

The woman with the clipboard chose that moment to approach them, a wide smile on her face as though she was secretly hoping this turned into a match-making event instead of promoting her coffee franchise.

“Hello! And what are your names, might I ask?” Pen poised, she looked between them expectantly.

“Sandor Clegane,” he said, and he watched as she scratched out his name on one of the columns before turning to Red.

“Sansa,” she said, and her eyes darted to him before she looked back at Ms. Clipboard and added, “Sansa Stark.”

Though she continued to write, Ms. Clipboard’s eyed widened. 

“Oh, good heavens,” she beamed at Sansa, “Police Commissioner Stark’s daughter! I knew I recognized you from somewhere.” She clutched the clipboard to her chest, the megaphone dangling from her wrist. “I’m so happy you’re here! Please, may I take your photo to use on our website?”

He felt the woman--Sansa--stiffen beside him, but she nodded, and when Ms. Clipboard held up her phone for the photo, Sansa leaned ever so slightly closer to Sandor. 

He couldn’t smile, though. It didn’t feel right. He was uncomfortable in the first place, and then irritated that Sansa had included him in the photo-op by assuming Ms. Clipboard would want his photo as well.

Well, she had it: giant stature, hair hanging in his face, scars. Yes, she had her photo. He was willing to bet she wouldn’t use it, not if the look on her face as she looked at her phone, at him, and then back at her phone was any indication. Her smile had faded as gently but surely as a leaf falling to the ground in fall.

Sansa spoke as the woman walked away, and she did not sound happy. 

“I hate it when people do that.” 

Sandor couldn’t help but let his irritation show.

“What--include you in a photo you want no part of?” Instead of getting uppity she just snorted, looking away from him over the crowds of people who had paired off and who were striking up animated conversations.

“No,” she said, and then she sighed, as though his comment had had no effect on her. She went on in a quiet voice, “I am my father’s daughter.” Then she looked at him before explaining, “I’m unerringly polite but I’ll never be my own person. All my siblings and I live in his shadow, though it’s a shadow we neither asked for nor wanted.”

Sandor shook his head, looking into her clear blue eyes and now seeing the despondency there.

“He’s police commissioner--how do you not ask for that post?”

“It was a favor for a friend, and yes, he’s done a lot of good for the city. But he found that the role is set against a background of even more corruption than he imagined, and now he’s stuck with it for a couple more years. He’d rather be out on a boat fishing, or in his garden with my mom.”

She became quiet and looked away again, as though she had said enough. Sandor was unaccountably curious about this woman. 

“And you?”

Sansa looked back at him, her glorious hair sliding over her shoulder to fall in front of her chest, all sleek and shine. He could see now that the effect it caused with catching and reflecting the sun’s rays was magnified up close.

“What is it you want, if not to be your father’s daughter?”

She narrowed her eyes at his, as though trying to see his true intentions in asking such a question. But, upon apparently seeing nothing untowards, she crooked up the corner of her mouth and looked away again.

“I  _ don’t _ want to sit in a park for an hour, holding hands with a stranger, making polite conversation, just for a cheap cup of bad coffee.”

Sandor was taken aback at her statement, unaccountably offended at her statement. But then he felt her fingertips rub up and down against the back of his knuckles, and when she looked back at him he knew it had been to soothe the sting of her words. She was smiling slightly at him, her perfect bow mouth pulled wide enough to show her genuine goodwill despite her present circumstances.

Sandor huffed a breath, not able to laugh but caught off guard by her sudden turn in behavior, and he was able to raise and lower his brow swiftly in reply before looking away. 

At the same time he inhaled deeply, the scent of crisp fall air and decomposing leaves filling his lungs and exiting on a deep sigh, he sensed her own sigh, and they fell into companionable silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I goofed, guys. I made a picset for the whole fic, instead of chapter by chapter lol. Oh well. Spoilers for Chapter 2 in that Chapter 1 picset!

Sansa didn’t know what had made her tell him all that. She supposed the woman with the clipboard-- _ Julie _ , her name tag said--had just annoyed her. Why did people have to assume that just because she was a daughter of the police commissioner, that she would lend her face to their cause?

And then she’d been irritated at not turning Julie down, because she was, in fact, unerringly polite. Call it a virtue all you like--Sansa called it annoying, and maddeningly diplomatic. Sometimes it was just so tiring, being the way she’d been raised.

And leaning towards Sandor had been her way of just assuming what Julie would expect. This was, after all, a coffee for partners day--not a  _ come to the park, get a free coffee _ event. And to force Julie to use the photo as such was just her way of sticking it to  _ the man _ . 

Okay, that wasn’t completely true. Half of it was sticking it to  _ the man _ ; the other half was playing up the photo-op with maddening diplomacy. How irritating.

And she had irritated Sandor, for sure. She had felt it, the tension that had come over his body at her lean. But then she'd pretty much told him she didn't want to be there, at the park, holding his hand and waiting for coffee, and she had gotten the impression he was thinking exactly the same thing.

So now they sat in silence, but it was mutual. And his hand felt good, much to her surprise. She had rubbed his with the tips of her fingers, hopefully taking the sting out of her words, and it seemed to have had the intended effect. 

His skin was soft, though in a manly way. Like where hers were soft because of lotion and lack of manual labor, his were soft compared to the essence of him. With his scars and demeanor one would think Sandor's skin was rough, perhaps reptilian. But it wasn’t, with a light dusting of hair on the back of his hands. And the palms were calloused, which just meant he worked hard at... something.

"What do you do for a living?" she asked. It wasn't that she could no longer stand the silence, but her curiosity about him was outweighing her desire to pass the an hour in silence.

Sandor turned to her, his hair swaying where it fell in front of his face just on the inside of his scars.  _ He must wear it like that often to cover them _ , she thought.  _ It looks natural on him _ .

"I'm a mechanic," he said. Then, when she didn't say anything else he added, "Auto mechanic. Bronn and I work for a shop downtown."

"Which one?"

He hesitated, and her mind's ears perked up. 

"Lannister Auto," he replied. 

_ Ah _ , who would want to admit that? 

"You sound like you don't really want to work for them," she ventured, though his tone had clearly said as much. Again, she rubbed the back of his hand with her fingers. 

Sandor glanced down at them, gazed at them before answering, "Bronn and I have been saving money. We’re going to open our own shop. I get tired of waiting for it."

Sansa was impressed. Not only did she have a good idea at how big of an investment that would take, but to open a shop with someone meant you held that person in fairly high regard. She filed away that tidbit of information, glancing over at where Bronn and Margaery still stood beside the truck, flirting up a storm.

"That's admirable," she offered, and he snorted another laugh.

"Admirable?" Sandor looked from their entwined hands up to her face. "Admirable isn't working for the Lannisters. Admirable will be the day I get out from underneath the fuckers and strike out on my own."

Sansa had to tell herself not to balk at his tone, but she knew he wasn't the only one who felt that way. The Lannisters were known for their lavish lifestyles, their horrible family drama that played out at late night parties and in tabloids, as well as the corrupt ways with which they ran their businesses. This she had heard from her father, but not before she had already dated and broken up with the oldest Lannister child, Joffrey Baratheon, child of Cersei Lannister's first and only failed marriage to Robert Baratheon.

Without telling Sandor this, she asked, "How long do you think it will be before you can open your own shop?"

Sandor sighed.

"Two years probably, though I'm hoping for sooner. I guess it depends on the price of property, which is what we're left saving for now. Downtown is a spendy market, and we can't afford anything big and fancy. But it needs to be good enough to look like a reputable place if we want to take some of the pie the Lannisters have had their grubby hands on."

Sansa laughed, shaking her head. "You have your work cut out for you." 

Sandor looked at her then, really looked at her. "You sound as if you know."

She nodded, because of course she did. "I dated one of them for a time, Joffrey."

Sandor threw his head back, sighing in exasperation. "That fucking little cunt? You dated the biggest twat in the world, Joffrey Baratheon?"

"Hey, watch it now--that's your boss's son," she reminded him, though she smiled. To her surprise, Sandor smiled and squeezed her hand.

"I'm just surprised you made it out of there alive. He's a real piece of shit, just like his mother. I would have killed the fucker with my bare hands if I'd had to spend any great amount of time in his company." Sandor sneered. "Little cunt came into the shop one time and nearly killed me. If there wasn't a mechanic's bay underneath the car I was working on, I would have been killed by it falling on me. 'Backed into the levers,' he'd said. Fucking... Backed into them my ass. Little prick, needed to be shot at birth."

He finally paused in his tirade and glanced at Sansa, a puff of breath causing his hair to fly forward for a moment before coming back to rest against his face. He looked at her like he was measuring her reaction to what he'd said, so Sansa thought a moment. But there was really nothing left to say. Sandor had indeed said all of it. So she leaned into him one more time, but this time it was to whisper conspiratorially towards his ear.

"I concur." 

Sandor's loud bark of laughter drew Bronn and Margaery's attention.

  
  


***

  
  


"What do you think they're laughing at?" Margaery stood close to Bronn, both of them glancing over at the other couple to see them both smiling, Sansa putting her other hand on Sandor's forearm. It had been a long time since she'd seen Sansa laugh like that with a man. Seriously--Margaery's friend needed a date. Or a fuck. Either one, really.

Then the man who had discovered her--Bronn, she crooned silently--chuckled, that buttery smooth rasp of a man who had seen a few things in his time.

"I don't rightly know, but I could count the number of times on one hand I've seen that fucker laugh like that." He looked back at her, winking, liking the blush that popped up on her cheeks. "Just means I have to keep you around, doll. You and your friend."

Bronn slid his arm around Margaery's slender waist as she did the same, convinced he had found his soulmate at this damned coffee event, and they kept their other hands entwined in front of them as they wandered away. 

  
  


***

  
  


Well, fuck. Sandor was enjoying himself. He hadn't expected that. He and Sansa actually got along, and he was happy to find his coarse demeanor didn't make her shy away from him, as it had done other women in the past. And she didn't once ask about the damn scars. So she had that going for her.

He found out more about her family and how close she was to them, and he told her he had no family, which was true. Ever since Gregor had died, he was the last Clegane. And he was okay with that. Most of the Clegane line had been a menace to society, and the death of it would only be a favor to mankind.

But he also found she was funny and nice, and intelligent, except for that serious lapse in judgement where she'd dated the Lannister cunt, but he couldn't hold that against her because it had happened a couple years prior. 

So when the bell rang and it was time to head up to the coffee truck to get their reward, he tested her level of interest by not letting go of her hand. There was a brief moment when she glanced from their entwined hands to his eyes, but then she looked away and went on as if nothing was amiss. 

Miracle of miracles, there was a woman who wanted to hold his fucking hand. He wasn't sure what to think about that.

"I don't know where Bronn is, I can't see him." Sandor looked around from their spot in line but he couldn't spot Bronn's brownish hair anywhere. Sansa looked up at him and gave him a slight smirk.

"You have a better vantage point than I do--do you see Margaery?"

Sandor looked around, shaking his head when he couldn't find that head of brown curls he'd seen Bronn spending his time with. 

And, he thought, he liked that Sansa was joking with him. It was… uplifting. It was a different sort of joking than what he and Bronn did--it was feminine, subtle. 

The line slowly moved but they kept their hands together, and when it was their turn to decide which of the prizes they wanted, Sandor almost said the coffee. But Sansa stopped him by placing a light hand on his chest, and spoke for both of them when she said, "Two coupons, please."

At first he felt discouraged, and then rejected. He should have known. A pretty face always has a ready smile on it, and he shouldn’t have expected Sansa to be any different.

But then she turned with a genuine smile on her face and squeezed his hand again. 

“We need an excuse for a second date,” she said, and she handed him his coupon. 

  
  


***

  
  


A week later, Sansa still hadn’t heard from Sandor despite giving him her number at the coffee event. She even  _ typed _ it into his phone, so she knew she’d given him the correct number.

She tried not to let it bother her. After all, she had spent a pleasant hour with a random stranger in a park, and that was all it needed to be. A memory, a nice memory that could be allowed to fade away like all the rest, eventually.

But…  _ But _ … He had made an indelible imprint on her, one which could not be ignored. 

She had thought a second date--or, really, a first one, since their first meeting was wholly pre-arranged--would afford her time to get to know him better. There had been so many things about their time together in the park that she’d wanted to continue.

The first being the hand holding. She liked the way his hand felt in hers, large and engulfing, strong but gentle. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from rubbing his a few times while they were together, either in encouragement or good humor. The feel of his skin--soft on the top of his hand with the light dusting of hair, and calloused, hard-working, on his palm--was a dichotomy she was sure the man inside matched. 

Then there was just that--the man. He was dark and brooding, she could tell, but he also seemed to have a sense of humor lurking just beneath the surface. He was kind and considerate, and quiet. Those silences they had sat through together weren’t uncomfortable, really. Most of them were quite pleasant, with the lack of conversation merely an alternative way to spend time together.

But lastly, she was curious--about him, who he was, his scars, what made him tick, his dreams. They hadn’t talked about any of that, aside from his desire to open a shop with Bronn eventually, and to get out from underneath the Lannisters.

_ Lannister cunt _ , she remembered him calling Joffrey. She smiled, and then looked around to make sure no one in the teacher’s lounge was watching her. 

Sandor did have a potty mouth, that was certain. But she didn’t find it a turn off, not in the way most women would. She liked it because he was honest, and the way he spoke just showed a rough side to him that she had found herself attracted to.

And yes, she supposed there was an element in there of physical attraction. But what woman in her right mind would  _ not _ be attracted to that big lug of a man? And a man who was saving with a friend to open his own business? Silently she mused,  _ hubba hubba _ .

But, her musings were all for naught if he didn’t want to contact her again. And lest she find herself wandering down the road of self-pity, she decided to throw herself into her work and forget about it.

She finished out her first week of school with a happy heart and a hope for the future, as it seemed like she had a great group of kids and really nice coworkers. Friday night was her night to relax, so she called Margaery to see if a girl’s night out was in their future.

“Hi! What are you up to?”

“Getting ready to have dinner with Bronn, why? What’s up?”

Sansa’s immediate reflex was to change her tactics, but she was really getting tired of not having a friend anymore. She decided to roll with it and see what happened.

“I was wondering if we could hang out, maybe go grab some drinks.”

“Hey, we're going to the bar after dinner, why don’t you come with us?”

Yeah, because  _ that _ sounded like a great idea. 

“No, Margaery, but thanks. I don’t want to feel like a third wheel. I’ll just talk to you later.”

“Hey hey,” Margaery’s voice softened. “I know, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Bronny, haven’t I?” 

Sansa didn’t say anything, knowing Margaery would go on talking regardless. That woman could hold an hour long long conversation by herself. 

“I’ll tell you what, how about after dinner we just make it you and me, okay? We’ll meet at O’Reilly’s for a beer and you can fill me in on what’s been going on at work and in your family, ‘kay?”

Sansa smiled. 

“Margaery, that’s not necessary, really--”

“--I insist!” she fairly cried. “I’ve been neglecting you! Please say yes! Please, just say yes, please, please!”

“Okay, yes, yes, I’ll meet you there,” Sansa replied, laughing at her friend’s begging tone. She could hear the smile in Margaery’s voice as the perky brunette announced drinks at 8pm sharp, before they both hung up.

  
  


***

  
  


Sandor didn’t really know what he was doing here. It wasn’t that he thought seeing Sansa again would be a good idea. He was still fairly certain that the coffee coupon burning a hole in his pocket had been her way of getting out of spending more time with him a week ago. They had parted on what seemed like good terms, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to call her.

And now Bronn was saying some guys from the shop wanted to meet at O’Reilly’s for a beer and that Margaery said she and Sansa were already planning on going. So  _ Hey, let’s double date! _ Bronn never listened to Sandor, who was more often than not the voice of reason between the two.

But that didn’t stop the hair from rising on the back of his neck at the sound of her laughter, or the way his heart sped up when he finally caught sight of her, sitting close to Margaery in a booth on the back wall of the bar. 

“Sandor!” Bronn was at his side instantly, dragging him over to the counter height table surrounded by bar stools in the center of the floor. There he found himself exchanging greetings with Drogo, Beric and Beric’s little brother, Thoros, all mechanics at Lannister Auto. Arriving shortly after him was Tormund, whose fiery red hair instantly brought Sandor’s gaze around to Sansa.

She had been staring at him as she sipped her cocktail. It took her a moment too long to realize he’d seen her, and a flush rose to her cheeks as she went back to paying attention to Margaery.

As the men sat around the table drinking beers, Sandor watched Margaery ply Sansa with no less than two cocktails followed by a shot of whiskey. And with each beverage that went down, Sansa’s eyes went up to meet his more and more.

There was a dare, there in those blue depths. And the further she got into her cups, the more transparent they became. 

Her looks started out blank, but then after the first shot they had begun to get curious, and then contemplative, as though just the act of looking at him made the wheels in her mind churn.

Then the second shot had gone down and something darker clouded over her blue eyes until they were looking at him, glancing over again and again, pools of navy blue water, like the ocean at midnight.

When she drank that shot with Margaery the cloud became angry, and her brows furrowed despite her friend’s tinkling laughter fluttering all the way over to his table. It was maddening, sitting on that stool knowing Sansa was boring holes into his face even as he tried to hold a conversation with Tormund. 

“Jesus Christ,” the big ginger said, bringing him out of his haze of Sansa-induced thoughts. “Would you look at the legs on that one.”

Following his gaze, Sandor saw Tormund’s focus was on a towering blonde woman who had just walked up to the bar. She wore a black tank top and baggy camo pants, so whatever it was about her legs that Tormund saw as appealing, Sandor did not. But suddenly Tormund forgot he was there with the guys and was walking over to the blonde and introducing himself, like a puppy to a teat. Sandor would have laughed if he hadn’t realized that entire side of his body was burning, now that it had been exposed to Sansa’s gaze.

He looked at her and she was looking at him, but not his  _ face _ . Her eyes were roaming over him, taking in his black boots, the dark blue of his jeans, the faded black t-shirt he wore, her gaze like a caress over his arms and the tattoo of the three snarling hounds on his bicep.

He flexed it and saw her eyes widen.  _ Christ _ . He pulled down half his beer in one gulp.

Then her eyes landed on his face and he was pretty sure he was not supposed to see the heat of attraction mixed in with the anger, but he did, and he wanted it explained. Why would she be looking at him as though he had done something wrong, but also as though she wanted to take a bite out of him?

Excusing himself from the table, he walked over to where Margaery was still gabbing and asked if he could speak to Sansa in private.

  
  


***

  
  


“Private?” Sansa fairly hissed, slapping her wallet down onto the table. He had a lot of nerve thinking he could waltz over to her table with those massive boots and demand a meeting with her. Her hackles were up, and she was raring for a fight. He wanted to speak to her in private? By the gods, he was going to get an earful.

“Margaery, watch my stuff,” she said coolly, though Margaery was so far gone that Sansa was pretty sure she was still talking as she and Sandor walked back towards the back hall where the bathrooms were.

Once there, she rounded on him, deciding she’d rather hear what he had to say first, before she gave him a piece of her mind..

“ _ What? _ ” 

Sandor looked unsure, as though he had no idea what was going on. It made her even angrier, and the alcohol in her system was making her bold. Suddenly flip-flopping once again, she decided on not giving him a chance to answer, and instead opened her mouth.

“What do you want, Sandor? Another coffee break to build me up and then tear me down? I don’t need you, I don’t need to spend time thinking about you. You never called.” 

She poked him,  _ hard _ , in the chest. 

“Why? Why didn’t you call me? Do you realize how cold that was, how… how… pig-headed?” She hadn’t been able to think of a better word. “I don’t understand. We had a good time and you just decided to ignore me. Well, I’m not waiting any longer for you, I’m over it.” 

Damn, that alcohol was good stuff. She had to ask Margaery what she’d been drinking. Then, to remind herself of her anger, she poked Sandor again. 

“Just leave me alone, Sandor, I don’t care if I never see you--”

Her words were cut off by his lips on hers, and it took her a moment, her last couple of words being said against the scratchiness of his mustache, to realize she didn’t need to talk anymore. He was bent over enough to bring his mouth up against hers, not touching her in any other way, except to silence her with his lips. 

It was unlike any other kiss she’d ever experienced, this lips to lips contact and nothing else.

Her mind was still reeling from her anger and, as her body had taken a moment to pause to experience what it was like to kiss him, her brain was just waiting to let loose once he ended the contact.

“You can’t come in here,” she began again when he pulled away, “and stare at me from your table, ruining my night with Margaery, while you just sit there flashing your muscles and looking all--”

_ Again _ , with the mouth! 

This time the press of his lips was more insistent, his slightly open-mouth kiss drawing her lower lips between his. His breath mingled with hers, the scent of hops mixing with the taste of sugar when she realized her mouth was open and their tongues were tangling in a deep kiss. Sansa moaned into his mouth as her legs decided they had forgotten how to work.

She grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands, feeling the muscles of his chest under the threadbare fabric. But instead of holding her up with his hands, he backed her up against the wall, pinning her there with his body, one of his large muscled thighs between hers.

Sansa’s mind was reeling from the onslaught but instinct took over, her arms snaking up, elbows out as his hands bracketed her rib cage, his thumbs coming dangerously close to the undersides of her breasts, eliciting another moan from her. She braced her hands on either side of his face, one sliding into his hair and the other coming into contact with the scars he had tried to hide from her all those days ago at the coffee giveaway. 

Sansa let her hands roam the bumpy skin, let her fingers dip and follow the crevices of scar tissue where it spread from his scalp, over where the ear used to be, down to his neck, where she could feel it disappeared under the collar of his t-shirt. 

Such pain he must have been in when it happened, and the thought made her whimper, made her wrap her arms around the back of his neck and pull her body into his until there was no more space left between them. Her kiss became fervent, her want for him an all-consuming wave of desire crashing over the walls of her conscience. 

She was lost in him, and, it would seem, him in her.

  
  


***

  
  


Sandor groaned against her mouth as she felt his scars, before sliding her arms around his neck and holding on tight.

Her body felt so good against his, his thumbs coming up to brush over the hardened nipples beneath her thin bra and blouse. She trembled at his touch and he ground his thigh into her pelvis, his hardness at her hip as she moaned into him.

Then he broke the kiss and buried his face in her hair, breathing hard and feeling her drop kisses across the good side of his neck. Her hands still roamed his shoulders, his back and hair, but they stopped as soon as he spoke.

“You were thinking about me?”

She froze, her breathing still ragged as he spoke into the skin of her neck. Then she leaned her forehead against his shoulder and nodded. He felt her clasp her hands behind his back and her arms went limp. Apparently, she wasn’t going to deny it.

“And,” he said, pausing, “You were waiting for me to call?”

Again, a nod, but when he went to pull back to see her face she kept it buried in his shirt.

Well,  _ shit _ . 

He’d had no idea. He had honestly thought she didn’t want to see him again. Although, Bronn asked him that day how it had gone with Sansa, and when he’d told his friend that Sansa had given him her phone number, Bronn seemed pleased. 

But in his mind, Sandor had been insisting that Sansa hadn’t wanted to keep in contact with him--had indeed wondered if she’d even given him the right number. She was, after all, the daughter of the police commissioner. What would an upstanding woman like her want with a lowly mechanic like him?

But just now, with her still in his arms, making out with him in the back hall of a bar, he realized the mistake he’d made. 

It was the very same mistake she had told him she was tired of people making about her--treating her like she was her father’s daughter, and not a woman on her own.

Scenes from that day revolved through his mind, like a news ticker on the bottom of a screen--the hand holding, the smiles, the way she had said they needed an excuse to see each other again. 

_ Fuck _ .

“I am such an ass, aren’t I.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered him with a nod anyway. He chuckled mirthlessly, saying, “I read you all wrong, Sansa.” He squeezed his arms around her, hugging her to him.

But she lifted her head, looking up at him with clear blue eyes, pools of sapphire he felt he could immerse himself in. Her lips were reddened with his kisses, her pale skin lightly, sexily marked by the burn from his beard. 

Her mouth parted and without smiling, she asked, “And now?” The question was mirrored in her eyes, as though they themselves could have spoken directly to his heart.

“I’m still an ass,” he said, and she did smile then, her lashes fluttering closed against smooth cheeks before opening again to focus on him. 

Sandor reached up to tuck a lock of soft, red hair behind her ear, his fingers traveling the path downward across the skin of her neck until they lifted at her collarbone. He smiled back, his knuckle feeling the velvety smooth surface of her cheek.

“But, I’d like that coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading my little fic. Stay tuned, more Sansan in in the works <3


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